Chapter Nine #2
Hunter nodded slowly. “She doesn’t need dominance. She needs partnership.” He looked between the lions. “And your witch needs space. Ursula doesn’t strike me as the forgiving easily type.”
Braydon chuckled darkly. “You got that right. She almost turned my eyebrows to ash.”
The laughter that followed was brief but eased the tension. For the first time that night, they weren’t enemies—they were men united by regret and purpose.
Hunter glanced toward the glowing windows above Fated Ink. “Look, none of this changes what’s coming. Caleb’s still out there. He’s going to make his move soon, and when he does, he’ll go for them first.”
Colt nodded. “Then we watch their backs. Even if they don’t want us around, we make damn sure nothing touches them.”
Landon met Hunter’s gaze, resolve hardening. “Agreed. I screwed up tonight, but I won’t let anything happen to her—or to Ursula.”
Lennox straightened, a spark of hope threading through the frustration. “So, we train together. Bears, lions, wolves. We figure out how to fight as one.”
Braydon’s grin was feral. “Now that sounds like a plan.”
Hunter nodded once, the weight in his chest easing. “Then it’s settled. We get stronger, smarter, and when the time comes, we stand between them and whatever the hell fate throws next.”
The five of them stood beneath the flickering streetlight, silent promises heavy in the air. The night around them hummed with the faint echo of distant magic—reminders of the women they’d angered, the bonds they’d broken, and the future they still had to fight for.
For the first time since the chaos began, Hunter felt something close to purpose. Not peace. Not yet. But the start of something that could become it.
And this time, he swore, they wouldn’t fail.
****
Two nights until the new moon.
The air in the abandoned cathedral pulsed with power.
The scent of smoke, iron, and blood mingled with the sharp tang of dark magic.
Candles lined the cracked stone walls, their flames bending unnaturally toward the center of the room where Caleb stood, arms spread wide as he directed the flow of energy through the sigils carved into the floor.
Around him, the three remaining members of the Council chanted in low, rhythmic tones. Their robes were stained with soot and the remnants of ash from the last ritual. They were tired, old, but their eyes burned with the same fanatical light that glimmered in Caleb’s.
“Hold it steady,” Caleb murmured. “Every breath, every word. The new moon is almost upon us. We have to be ready when the shadows open.”
The power in the room swelled, vibrating against his ribs. He could feel the wards taking shape, their edges sharp and cruel, built to wound and capture rather than protect. This wasn’t magic meant for balance—it was meant for destruction.
At the far end of the room, Elder Myra’s voice cracked as she finished her verse. “The traps are almost ready,” she whispered. “By tomorrow night, they’ll be perfect. Nothing of the light will enter.”
Caleb turned toward her, lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Good. Let them hide in their wards and circles. They won’t save them. The witches think themselves untouchable, but the moment they step beyond their safety, we will strike.”
He moved back toward the sigil, tracing a finger through one of the runes glowing red with heat. “I’ve spent years studying their bloodlines, their weaknesses. The Goddess favors them—but even she can be deceived.”
The youngest of the remaining Council, a man barely thirty, shifted uneasily. “You mean to face the coven yourself?”
“I mean to do more than face them,” Caleb said, his tone cold and reverent at once.
“I mean to end them.” He stood tall, eyes bright with fanatic devotion.
“Brielle is the key. Her blood carries power older than any spell they remember. When I kill her—when her blood feeds our circle—the strength within her will become mine. Ours.” He gestured toward the others.
“With it, the world will bend, and the Goddess herself will kneel.”
Myra frowned. “And if you fail?”
Caleb’s smile sharpened. “Then we follow the contingency. The Druid Stone.”
He motioned toward the small chest resting on the altar.
Within it, hidden beneath layers of protective seals, was a map and the faint hum of something ancient.
“Tomorrow night, we take it back. The witches don’t yet know what they have.
It’s the heart of their power, and they left it guarded by arrogance. ”
The youngest councilman swallowed hard. “And if we cannot use it?”
“Then we go back,” Caleb said simply, voice turning almost gentle. “Back to the beginning. The Stone carries the echoes of what was. We’ll find the first circle again and reset the timeline. If the Goddess won’t grant me power in this world, I’ll take it in another.”
The air in the cathedral grew colder. Even the shadows seemed to recoil.
Caleb turned back toward the sigil and pressed his bleeding palm against it. The power flared bright and red, then sank into the carvings like blood soaking into flesh. The candles guttered out, leaving only the glow of his eyes in the dark.
“In two nights,” he whispered. “Two nights, and the world will kneel.”